Tomorrow's Treasure (32 page)

“I suppose it was. What did Rogan say?”

“He said …”

Evy grimaced when their voices faded. Down the corridor Arcilla closed her bedroom door, and Evy let her hands crash on the keys. The noisy bedlam filled the room.

So what did he say about me?
Was it too much to contemplate that he might have complemented her?
Keep dreaming, Evy Varley.

That same afternoon Evy noticed for the first time a handsome violin in the corner of the large room. Investigating she saw initials engraved on the leather carrying case:
R. J. C.

It could not be Rogan's could it? There must be some mistake. Could there be another R. J. C.? Hardly. But the thought of the restless, arrogant Rogan playing violin made her laugh. What an impossible notion.

Arcilla's fifteenth birthday finally arrived, but it did not find her going to France as she had anticipated. Instead, she was sent to a private school in London, which did not seem to cause the degree of disappointment it might have due to her interest in one of Patricia Bancroft's brothers.
Arcilla often talked about Charles, but then she talked about so many boys that Evy merely smiled at her.

“Honestly, Arcilla. You've been in love so often you'll never know when you really
are
in love.”

“Oh, you're such a disapproving girl. Really, Evy, I'm serious. By now you should have at least
one
boy you're interested in. Instead all you do is practice your music and read your Bible.”

“That is not true. I do lots of other things. But I don't see why I should follow in your steps. They'll most likely lead you into big trouble one of these days.”

Arcilla laughed at her. “Well, you do have Derwent Brown.”

Evy gave a haughty sniff. “I don't know what you intend to imply by that.”

Arcilla's grin was utterly wicked. “I daresay you
do.
You are going to marry him one day. You'll go live at the rectory and grow roses and hold the spring and summer fete. Whereas I”—and she smiled to herself at this and opened her arms wide—“will be able to enjoy the whole wide world. Isn't it positively
grand?
”

“Oh, indeed. Positively.” Evy gave her friend a small smile. “But I warn you, Arcilla, you may learn that the whole wide world is not such a lovely place after all. As for Derwent, you appear to know more than I do about our future. Nothing is certain in this life. Only God knows whom I will marry, and that is the best choice I could have.”

“Oh, Evy, you are
so
naive, yet I can't help liking you for it. Well, never mind that, what do you think of my new ball gown? Isn't it a dream? I'll wear it at Heathfriar.”

While Arcilla had been to several balls by now, Evy had not been to even one. She refused to let Arcilla know she was wistful, or that she secretly dreamed of waltzing with Rogan and not with Derwent. Arcilla would enjoy making fun of her, and if she discovered her daydream about Rogan she might even be mean enough to tell him.

“The ball at Heathfriar—where dear Charles shall sweep me off my feet.” Arcilla held her ball gown against her with one hand and placed the other at her heart. She waltzed about the room, eyes closed in
dreamy reverie until she bumped into the bed and fell. Evy laughed. Today Arcilla was in love with Charles, and tomorrow—well, who knew? Certainly not Arcilla.

The gown was indeed beautiful, a minty green with a golden underlining so that it shimmered in the light. Arcilla would look lovely in it, and of course she knew she would. She was mature in body, and boys were starting to buzz around her like bees.

“What about Peter Bartley of South Africa?” Evy leaned back. “Your father and Sir Julien have plans.”

Arcilla made a face. “I will
never
travel to South Africa to marry a government official. Aunt Elosia agrees with me.”

A surprise, indeed, Evy thought, then chastised herself for the uncharitable thought. For all of Arcilla's posturing, it had to be a difficult thing to have one's future decided without regard to what one truly wanted.

For the hundredth time, Evy thanked God that she belonged to a simple and loving family. At least she would never have to worry about being handed off in marriage as a financial or business asset!

A few months later, Evy had her fifteenth birthday, and Aunt Grace handed her an envelope.

“For your birthday.”

Evy unsealed the flap, removed a gilt-edged letter, and read.

This is to inform you that Miss Evy Varley has been accepted into her first year of studies at the prestigious and hallowed halls of Parkridge Music Academy.

Shock and then delight shivered through Evy. She jumped up and threw her arms around Aunt Grace. “Aunt! Oh,
thank
you, thank you! But how? How could you manage with our finances as they are?”

Aunt Grace smiled, looking as pleased and excited as Evy. “Oh, I have my little secrets. I wanted to surprise you.”

“You have. And I'm thrilled. But your savings—”

“This did not come from my savings.”

“Then where—?”

Her aunt merely patted her hand. “Now now, you must not meddle. A birthday gift is meant to be accepted, not questioned. The second year of your studies is another matter, however. We will proceed one year at a time, trusting the Lord.”

Evy laughed and embraced her again. “I owe you so much, Aunt Grace.”

“It is enough I have your affection.” Her aunts voice trembled, and Evy blinked back tears.

“You will always have that, dear Aunt.” She kissed the older woman's cheek, then frowned when she noticed darkening circles beneath her aunts eyes. She must be tired, Evy thought, but paid no more attention at the moment. Her happiness bubbled.

“I must go and tell Arcilla.”

“Tell me what?” Arcilla came into the room, hands behind her.

Evy whirled, smiling. “That I trusted the Lord with my disappointment about going to Parkridge, and guess
what?
”

Arcilla laughed. “He answered your prayer after all!”

“Yes! I'm leaving for London in two weeks.”

“I know. Mrs. Havering told me. And now …” She drew her hands from behind her and held out a gaily wrapped package. Arcilla's eyes sparkled as she looked over at Aunt Grace, who smiled.

“We've shared the secret of your going to London, and I bought you something.”

Evy's heart overflowed. “Oh, Arcilla, did you really?”

“Of course I did, silly goose. Open it.”

Evy tore open the paper and ribbons. “Oooh …” She feasted her eyes on a stylish dress, one as elegant as anything Arcilla owned for evening wear.

“The jade color goes with my eyes.” There was no doubting the pleasure in Arcilla's features, as she said this, then went on to exclaim over the lower half of the skirt, which was also embroidered. “It is wonderful.”

The neckline was lower, as was appropriate for evening wear, with a delicately embroidered bodice. The sleeves were puffed to the elbow with silk ruching at the bust. The overskirt was pleated, which, Arcilla explained, was quite popular. The gold-fringed hemline on the ornate skirt came to the floor.

Again, Evy let a sigh of pure delight escape her as she touched the glimmering silk.

“And—this.” Arcilla stepped back into the corridor, then returned with a hatbox and several smaller boxes. Her mischievous smile drew an answering grin from Evy. “These are from my dear, dear brother.”

Rogan!

Evy felt her cheeks warming, and lowered her head to avoid Arcilla's sharp gaze. She took the packages and tore off the wrappings, then removed a positively darling green hat with bows, ribbons, and silk flowers that matched the dress.

“The hat is for day wear,” Arcilla said.

“It's beautiful.” Evy held the charming adornment in her hands as a riot of emotions surged through her.
Don't be absurd!
a sensible voice within her scolded.
He didn't buy this special for you. Good heavens, he probably sent a servant to purchase it. You can't possibly think Rogan would care enough to
—

She removed the fashionable silk flowers with tiny gemstones that were to be worn in an upswept hairdo for evening. Next followed gloves that reached to the elbow, and a lacy fan to complete her evening outfit.

Evy could not find her voice.

“He's busy in London, so he did not come home this weekend.”

Evy met Arcilla's smiling look. So she was right. He hadn't bought it—

“But when he saw the dress I'd bought you, he went out and returned with the other accessories. ‘For the rectory girl,' he told me, though I confess his tone was a bit goading. No matter. His taste is surprisingly exquisite.” She nudged Evy. “Try them
on.
Lets see.”

“Yes”—Aunt Grace came from behind her—“try them on, dear.” She reached to unloose Evy's garments, then helped her slip into the
new dress and set the jaunty hat on her head, brushing back her thick, tawny curls.

“You look lovely, dear.” Aunt Grace's voice caught with tender pleasure.

Evy rushed to the mirror and could scarcely believe her eyes. Could that vision in the glass really be her?

“Such conceit.” Arcilla
tsked
, an utterly shameless grin on her face.

“I—hardly recognize myself.”

“You look quite grown-up,” Arcilla agreed, as though she were a few years Evy's senior instead of a few months.

Evy turned back to the mirror, noting how the color of the gown made her amber eyes sparkle with jade flecks. Those eyes widened a fraction as she realized how the dress enhanced her figure.

She fondled the ribbons on her hat, more pleased than she dared admit to know Rogan had actually taken time to shop in London to buy her birthday gifts.

Her gaze slid from the hat to her aunt's reflection, and Evy stiffened. Aunt Grace's eyes shone with pride, but there was something more there.

Concern. Clearly, her aunt was worried.

And Evy had the uncomfortable feeling that it was because Aunt Grace had known what—and who—had been occupying her thoughts.

Evy and Alice Tisdale shared a room with two other girls at Parkridge Music Academy in London. Turning fifteen and going to music school had not changed Alice one whit. She was still as haughty as ever. She seemed to live in a dream world, and hinted time and again that she would marry Rogan. Evy discounted that idea, though she never said so to Alice. But it was well known that Rogan and Patricia were often placed together at social functions.

Thus it was a quite a surprise when Alice announced one Thursday afternoon that Rogan had arranged for her to spend a weekend at Heathfriar. Arcilla would be there, as would Rogan and Parnell, and there was to be some sort of lawn party.

“Naturally the Chantrys shall be taking me to Heathfriar with them tomorrow afternoon. We shall return here to the school on Sunday evening.” Alice looked across the room at Evy, who was doing her homework. “It is such a shame
you
will be left here all alone, Evy.”